An illustrated letter about remembering your own style

At 67, I found a photograph of myself wearing cowboy boots at thirty-five. My daughter asked when I'd stopped dressing like myself.

There is an old photograph of me standing outside a little apple orchard in Texas, wearing a denim skirt, a cream sweater and the most wonderful pair of brown cowboy boots.

I was thirty-five at the time.

My hair was darker, my children were still little, and I was laughing at something my husband had said just before the photograph was taken.

I found it last Sunday while sorting through a box of family pictures with my daughter Claire.

She picked it up, looked at it for a moment and smiled.

"Mom, I remember those boots."

I laughed.

I remembered them too.

They had a lovely worn brown finish, a little heel and beautiful stitching along the sides.

I wore them with skirts, dresses, jeans and practically everything else I owned during autumn.

Claire asked what had happened to them.

I told her I'd eventually given them away when I decided I was getting a little old for cowboy boots.

She looked at me.

Then at the photograph.

"Mom, when did you stop wearing things you actually liked?"

I started to tell her I was sixty-seven now and had to be a little more sensible.

But she wasn't finished.

"You look so happy in this picture. Why do you think those boots had an age limit?"

I didn't have an answer.

I'd spent thirty years growing older, and somewhere along the way I'd mistaken growing older for becoming less myself.

It's a strange thing to realize at sixty-seven.

I still like the same colors.

I still love autumn.

I still enjoy denim skirts, knitted sweaters and little trips out when the leaves begin to change.

But I'd quietly stopped wearing some of the things that made those ordinary outings feel a little more special.

And I hadn't really noticed until Claire found that photograph.

I'm writing this because I suspect other women over sixty-five will understand.

We spend years collecting sensible clothes.

Plain coats.

Practical shoes.

Neutral pants.

Things that won't attract too much attention.

And after a while, we forget that we're still allowed to enjoy the styles we loved when we were younger.

Not because we want to be thirty-five again.

But because the woman we were then is still part of who we are now.

How I stopped buying interesting boots

When I was younger, I loved autumn footwear.

There was something wonderful about bringing the boots out when September turned into October.

A lovely brown pair with jeans.

Something with a little heel for going out.

And the cowboy boots I wore so often that my sister used to joke I was going to sleep in them.

I wasn't particularly fashionable.

I simply liked clothes with a little personality.

But somewhere through my fifties and sixties, I became increasingly careful.

I started buying the same plain black ankle boots every year.

They were sensible.

They went with everything.

And nobody would ever look at them and think I was trying too hard.

That last part is embarrassing to admit.

Because I don't actually know who I thought was judging me.

My daughter certainly wasn't.

My friends were far too busy living their own lives.

And the women I saw at the shops weren't standing around discussing whether Catharine Laurent was too old for an interesting pair of boots.

I'd invented those rules myself.

Then followed them so faithfully that I stopped questioning them.

What I had wrong about dressing my age

After Claire went home, I took that old photograph upstairs and looked at it again.

There I was.

Thirty-five years old, wearing boots I loved and smiling at the camera.

And I began thinking about the clothes I had worn in the years since.

I don't regret becoming more practical.

There are plenty of things I appreciate now that I didn't think about at thirty-five.

A good coat.

Proper layers for a Texas autumn.

Shoes that suit the weather and the places I'm going.

But I'd somehow decided that practical clothes couldn't also be beautiful or interesting.

That if I wanted to look appropriate for my age, I had to choose something plain.

And I wasn't sure that was actually true.

Perhaps I could still enjoy a little Western detail.

A decorative buckle.

A softly worn finish.

A boot with some character rather than another completely ordinary black pair.

I didn't want to dress like a younger woman.

I wanted to dress like myself.

And that was an entirely different thing.

The boots I kept going back to

A few evenings later, I was browsing the Boots collection at Novira Dallas.

There were several styles, from simple everyday ankle boots to more distinctive Western-inspired designs.

Then I came across a pair called the Sloane.

And I stopped scrolling.

They weren't exactly like the boots in my old photograph.

But they had the same sort of character.

A soft khaki-taupe color with a weathered, worn-in appearance.

A gently slouched shaft that falls into natural folds instead of standing completely stiff.

A shaped Western heel.

And a beautiful decorative strap around the lower part of the boot, with little perforations and a buckle at the side.

The more I looked at them, the more details I noticed.

The stitched edging around the top.

The slightly darker finish around the toes.

The pull tabs at the top.

And the zipper running along the side.

There was something rather lovely about the whole design.

Not a perfectly polished dress boot.

Not an enormous heavy winter boot.

A soft, vintage-inspired Western style that looked as though it already had a little story to tell.

And I liked that immediately.

I looked at the photographs more than once.

Then I went back and looked at the old family picture again.

There was something comforting about recognizing a style I had always loved.

I'd spent years believing I had moved on from it.

But perhaps I hadn't.

Perhaps I'd simply stopped looking.

The details that reminded me of my old favorites

At sixty-seven, I pay much more attention to how boots are designed than I once did.

I still like beautiful details.

But I also want to understand how something fastens, where the heel sits and whether the style is appropriate for the outings I have in mind.

What interested me about the Sloane was the combination of Western character and familiar practical features.

There is a side zipper, which is something I always look at carefully when choosing taller boots.

I don't particularly enjoy struggling with footwear every time I need to go somewhere.

The sculpted block-style heel gives the boot its Western appearance without looking like a tall, narrow stiletto.

And the softly slouched shaft makes the design feel more relaxed than a rigid, formal riding boot.

But the part I liked most was the strap.

It runs around the lower shaft with little decorative cut-outs and a buckle.

Not an enormous amount of decoration.

Just enough to give the boot a distinctive appearance.

It reminded me of the vintage clothes my mother used to keep and the little details that made one item different from another.

I also liked the weathered khaki finish.

It isn't a flat, perfectly uniform color.

The shading gives it a worn-in look, particularly around the toes and seams.

And that is something I've always liked about Western-inspired footwear.

It doesn't necessarily need to look brand new and polished to look lovely.

I wasn't searching for footwear that promised to do everything.

I'm far too sensible for that now.

A Western-style boot with a heel isn't necessarily the right choice for every surface or activity.

And Texas winters can still bring days that require proper winter footwear designed for snow and ice.

But for milder autumn days, dry outings and occasions when I wanted to wear something a little different, I liked the Sloane's appearance.

That was enough to make me consider it.

The skirt I hadn't worn in years

Once I started thinking about Western boots again, I remembered something else.

A brown corduroy skirt I'd had in the closet for years.

It wasn't particularly fashionable.

But it was a lovely warm color, and I used to wear it with a cream sweater every autumn.

Then I stopped.

Not because there was anything wrong with the skirt.

Simply because I couldn't decide what shoes looked right with it anymore.

My plain black ankle boots always made the outfit feel rather severe.

And the lighter shoes I owned didn't seem particularly suited to October.

So the skirt stayed in the closet.

Year after year.

Until I began thinking about the Sloane.

I took the skirt out, laid it on the bed and put my cream sweater beside it.

Then I imagined the soft weathered-brown boots with the whole outfit.

And suddenly I could remember why I'd loved that sort of combination years ago.

Warm autumn colors.

A little vintage character.

Nothing especially formal.

Just clothes that looked like they belonged together.

And it made me smile.

What happened when Claire saw them

Claire came over again the following weekend.

She'd brought some apples and wanted to know whether I felt like going out for coffee.

I told her I'd been looking at Western boots.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Have you really?"

I showed her the Sloane.

She looked at the color, the buckle detail and the shaped heel.

Then she smiled.

"Mom, those look exactly like something you would have loved years ago."

I told her that was what I'd been thinking.

She asked what had changed my mind.

I said I'd spent so long buying sensible things that I'd forgotten I could still enjoy a little character in my clothes.

Claire laughed.

"Well, I don't see why getting older should make your wardrobe less interesting."

And when she said it like that, I wondered why I'd needed so much convincing.

At sixty-seven, I wasn't trying to become younger.

I simply wanted to stop automatically ruling out things I liked.

The autumn afternoon I wanted to remember

We went out for coffee that Saturday.

The weather was beautiful.

The trees had turned gold and orange, and there were leaves scattered along the sidewalks.

It was exactly the sort of Texas autumn afternoon I've always loved.

I wore my cream sweater and the corduroy skirt I'd been keeping in the closet.

Nothing particularly adventurous.

Just a simple combination of warm colors and textures.

And I thought about how different it felt to choose an outfit because I genuinely liked it rather than because it seemed the safest possible option.

Claire noticed the skirt straight away.

"I haven't seen you wear that in years."

I told her I'd almost forgotten I owned it.

She asked whether I'd found something to wear with it.

I told her I'd finally started considering Western boots again.

She looked far too pleased with herself.

Daughters do enjoy knowing they've started something.

But I was rather pleased too.

We had coffee, looked through a few shops and spent the afternoon talking about things that had nothing to do with clothes.

And when I got home, I realized how much I'd enjoyed getting dressed that morning.

It had been a long time since I'd felt that way.

Sometimes we spend so long choosing clothes for practical reasons that we forget there is another reason to buy something.

Because we genuinely like it.

Because it reminds us of something lovely.

Or simply because it makes getting dressed feel enjoyable again.

Why the old photograph mattered

A few evenings later, I took that photograph out again.

I looked at the woman standing outside the apple orchard.

Thirty-five years old, laughing at the camera, wearing her favorite boots.

And I thought about everything that had happened in the years since.

The children had grown up.

There were grandchildren now.

I'd moved house, changed jobs, lost people I loved and celebrated more family occasions than I could count.

Of course I wasn't the same person I had been in that photograph.

And I wouldn't want to be.

I'm proud of the years I've lived.

But I realized that getting older didn't mean I needed to discard every little piece of the woman I used to be.

Some of those things were still worth keeping.

My love of autumn.

My fondness for warm colors.

And apparently, my weakness for a beautiful pair of Western boots.

Three things I've learned about style after 65

One. Sensible doesn't have to mean plain. I've spent years choosing the most ordinary shoes I could find because I thought anything decorative was unnecessary. But there is nothing wrong with enjoying a little stitching, a shaped heel or an unusual buckle.

Two. The styles we loved years ago can still have a place in our wardrobes. I don't want to dress exactly as I did at thirty-five. But I can appreciate the same Western-inspired details and find ways to wear them that suit my life now.

Three. Choosing footwear for the occasion still matters. A vintage-inspired boot can be lovely for a dry autumn outing, but that doesn't make it the right shoe for icy paths, deep snow or long countryside walks. Style and suitability are both worth considering.

That third one is important here in Texas.

I have proper winter boots for the days that require them.

And I have no desire to pretend a decorative Western boot is something it isn't.

But I also don't think every pair of shoes in my wardrobe needs to be designed for a snowstorm.

Sometimes I simply want something lovely to wear for lunch.

Why I chose the weathered khaki

The Sloane is listed in several colors.

Khaki, light brown, gray and black.

I looked at all four.

But the khaki was the one I kept returning to.

It has that soft, weathered brown-taupe appearance I associate with vintage Western boots.

Not a bright tan.

Not a completely dark brown.

A color that sits somewhere between, with natural-looking variations in the finish.

I particularly like it with cream knitwear.

And with denim.

And with the earthy skirts and cardigans I start bringing out every September.

It's also a little different from the black boots I've been wearing for years.

There is nothing wrong with black, of course.

But it was nice to find something that reminded me of the colors I used to enjoy.

About the price

I want to mention the price because I always check these things before ordering anything online.

Novira Dallas currently lists the Sloane Boots at $79.95 USD, with a displayed comparison price of $120.00 USD.

That's an advertised saving of approximately thirty-three percent.

The wider Boots collection also contains other styles, with different prices and designs.

Some are more understated, while others have Western details, buckles or different heel shapes.

I would always recommend looking carefully at the specific boot rather than choosing something simply because it is on sale.

For the Sloane, the store lists a softly slouched shaft, perforated harness strap, sculpted Western heel and side zipper.

There are four color options.

The sizes are labeled in US sizing, from 4 through 11, with selected half sizes.

I'd check the size information before ordering, especially if you normally shop using UK or European size labels.

With boots, I'd also consider how they fit around the calf and whether there is enough room for the socks you plan to wear.

Novira Dallas advertises free tracked delivery across the United States.

The store says orders are generally prepared within one to two business days, with delivery usually taking seven to fourteen business days.

It also lists a thirty-day return period, subject to the store's conditions.

I'd review those conditions before purchasing.

And I wouldn't assume that the Sloane is waterproof or designed for icy conditions without specific product information confirming that.

For me, the appeal is the design.

The warm weathered color.

The Western heel.

The beautiful little perforations around the harness.

And the slightly slouched shape that makes the boots look as though they've been loved for years.

That's what caught my attention.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of tea between us, and you told me you'd stopped wearing the boots you loved because you thought you were too old for them, I would understand completely.

I did exactly that.

I spent years choosing plain black footwear because it was sensible.

And it was sensible.

But I'd forgotten that I could still enjoy something with a little personality.

Something that reminded me of the clothes I used to wear.

Something that made an ordinary autumn outfit feel a little more like me.

I don't want to look thirty-five again.

I have no desire to start all those years over.

But I do think there are parts of our younger selves worth remembering.

The colors we loved.

The styles that made us happy.

The little things we wore simply because we liked them.

The Sloane is worth looking at if you enjoy vintage-inspired Western boots.

Have a proper look at the photographs.

Check the measurements and the heel.

Think about where you would actually wear them.

And if that particular style isn't for you, the Boots collection has other options worth considering.

Some women prefer completely flat footwear.

Others want a shorter ankle boot.

And some need proper winter boots with additional traction and weather protection.

That's perfectly reasonable.

But I don't think we need to stop wearing things we genuinely love simply because another birthday has come around.

At sixty-seven, I've decided I'm old enough to know what I like.

And young enough to keep enjoying it.

Claire has already suggested we visit the orchard again before the autumn season is over.

I told her I'd love to.

And this time, when we take a photograph, I hope I'm thinking about the lovely afternoon we're having.

Not whether the boots I like are appropriate for a woman my age.

After all, the woman in that old picture is still part of me.

I've just had thirty-two more years to learn what matters.

At 67, I've stopped dressing as though getting older means becoming less myself. There is still room for the things I've always loved.

Catharine